Our Deaths
by Miss Charz
Summary: One-shots about the characters' deaths from GG.    Formerly 'Our Lives'
1. Skydiving, Bex

Skydiving is very much like life. You can take the risk and jump into the unknown, or you can sit back and be safe, watching on as others take the risk.

Bex knew this. She knew it well. Especially as she sat there, flying high above the ground, alone.

The backpack strapped to her back was her lifeline. She just had to pull the cord, or she would die. Simple.

Bex was stronger, now. She knew how to protect her heart better, especially from boys.

Breaking up with Grant had been was the best. Or so she'd tried to convince herself, anyway.

No longer would she let someone take her heart so foolishly.

No longer. No more.

Bex looked up as the light turned from red to orange.

She wished there was something like that in life. To warn her when there was a jump coming up. To help her prepare for the risk.

Standing up, she checked her backpack again; making sure everything was in order.

She slid open the plane door with an almighty heave, and a huge rush of adrenaline pumped through her veins. Her heart quickened, her breathing sped up; she felt amazing.

The ground below looked so insignificant.

People were ants, houses were small blocks. But what she found the most intriguing, were the fields.

The intricate, perfect patterns that scattered the countryside. They were strangely beautiful.

As Bex looked down below, she knew skydiving was just like life. You could either jump, or you could stay behind.

So she jumped.


	2. The Ball, Macey

Macey McHenry hated formal events. She hated the phoniness of them She hated the _formality _of them.

So when she was forced, yet again, to pull on a silky, green dress and slip into five-inch heels, she felt a current of rage course through her.

Her hair was tied up uncomfortably, her face layered with make-up and that fake expression she wore; she despised it all so much.

When she was younger, she was made to attend many formal events, usually squished into some horrible outfit chosen by her mother.

If her father hadn't been who he was, she wouldn't have been put through that. It was all his fault.

She thought back to those lingering memories as she walked into the enormous, crowded ballroom.

Scanning the room subtly, she sipped a glass of expensive, yet disgusting, white wine; almost wanting to spit the awful stuff out again.

But she did as she always had throughout her life; she put on a cover, she kept the façade going.

And it tired her. It really did. All this pretending. It wore her out; exhausted her. Wouldn't it be pure bliss if it could all stop?

She found herself tailing the reason she was at that dreadful place.

Him. He was so charming; so debonair. But she knew better. She knew what he did, and why. She knew about his two separate wives, neither of which knew the other. She knew about his three children, none suspecting they had a step-sibling somewhere in the world.

She followed him quietly down a deserted hallway, watching his every move.

She despised this man. They had never met before, but she felt like she knew him.

Perhaps she did, in a way. Perhaps because, in her lifetime, she had met so many like him, that she _did _know him.

She knew she couldn't let her emotions get in the way of this. It would cloud her judgement.

Walking noiselessly, like a ghost, through the hallways, the memories of her awful childhood came back.

Of never having a real home…

Of never having a real family…

Of never having someone _really _love her.

Until Gallagher, that was.

Gallagher had saved her, and doomed her at the same time.

It had given her a true family. A sisterhood. And a home.

But it had also introduced her to this life. The life of a spy. The life she knew she could never escape.

She remembered her three best friends as she picked the lock on the door.

She remembered Cammie. Her invisible friend. The one with the gift she so dearly desired. Cammie could disappear when she liked but she, Macey, had always been destined for the spotlight.

She remembered Bex. Her strong friend. Bex could handle anything. A trait Macey would have loved to have stolen, too. To be able to handle why her mother and _the senator _never loved her, it would've been nice.

She remembered Liz. Her smart friend. Macey would have loved to have been as smart as Liz. To understand how to take any situation rationally was something Macey desired badly. She was good at boys, but not at life in general; whereas Liz had all the answers.

As she slipped through the door, she had a feeling she wouldn't return back through it.

Over in the corner of the room, a window was open; a small breeze wafting through it, ruffling her hair.

She saw him too late; he came from the shadows.

She didn't stop him as he lifted a hand to her face and pressed his lips on hers. She tried to imagine him as Preston.

Preston understood her, and she loved him for it.

As he pulled away, she tried to block out the pain and the strange warmth gushing from her stomach.

One slender, pale hand reached the hilt of the dagger and tugged. It hurt too much to keep pulling, so she slumped against the wall and slip down it to the floor.

The door opened and shut again; he left her alone to die.

Die.

Death.

_Dead_.

She would be soon. There was too much blood.

She hoped Cammie would remember her as a kind friend and not a snobby brat.

She hoped Bex would still love her, even after all the times they fought.

She hoped Liz would forgive her for being so horrible sometimes.

Because she loved them. They were her sisters, and she knew she would see them again one day.

And, comforted by that thought, a lone tear rolled down her cheek as she smiled sadly and closed her eyes for the very last time.


	3. Her and him

**Okay, I'm in a depressing-story-writing mood right now, so this is what I've come up with (That, and I'm wearing my emo-eyeliner).**

**Enjoy… well, not really… but I can't say 'cry your eyes out', now can I?**

"Do you love me?"

"No."

"Did you ever love me?"

"No."

"Was anything you ever said true?"

"No."

"Are you doing this for your mother?"

"No."

"Who, then?"

He doesn't answer, just continues pointing the gun at her head.

"Who are you doing this for?" she tries again.

Still no answer. The gun begins to shake.

"Tell me!" 

"Shut up!"

She falls silent; but she's not afraid of him.

"You are going to die."

"I know."

She knows; of course she does. She's a spy, after all. They're clever; they're smart, they know how to analyse a situation.

"Just pull the trigger, already."

"You don't tell me what to do," he growls in her ear.

His breath is warm against her neck and she shivers. She thought she loved him; she thought he _cared_.

"Why are you dragging this out?"

He doesn't reply, again.

All there is, is silence. Silence. Silence. And it's deafening.

"Why did you pretend for so long?"

She almost doesn't want to hear his answer, but she knows it'll make it easier; maybe.

"Because it was necessary."

"Was I necessary?"

"Yes."

"How come? You never got any information out of me."

"You sure do have a hell of a lot of questions for a dead girl."

"I'm not dead yet."

"But you will be soon."

He raises the gun, and holds it firmer. He doesn't want to miss; he _can't _miss.

"Was it hard? Pretending?"

He clenches his jaw. Of course it was hard. He had to sentence this girl to death.

She seems to understand, though he says nothing.

"You always were sweet, even if you were pretending. It's hard to believe you never felt anything."

"Well, I didn't, so shut up." He hates her words; he hates them because he's knows they're true.

He did care. He got sloppy and allowed himself to care. And that's why he was there; pointing a gun at her head, ready to shoot.

He knew he couldn't have anyone in the world that someone else could tie him to. He couldn't risk it; not in this business.

"So how long am I going to live for?"

"Not long."

"That's not being specific."

_Who cares about specifics! You're going to die!_ He screams at her in his mind.

"Where's your mother?"

"No idea."

She knows he knows where she is, but she doesn't push him. His mother has always been a touchy subject.

So instead, she asks about her death again.

"Are you going to make it quick, or watch me suffer?"

He thinks for a moment.

"Which would you prefer?"

She doesn't know which one to choose. A slow death would mean more time in the world, but a quick one would be painless and easy.

But everyone knows, the easy way out isn't always the best.

"How are you?"

He's stumped by her question. It's so _unnecessary._

"Why do you care?"

"Because I care. I always have, no matter whether you did or didn't. _I always have_."

"Goodbye."

She senses his hesitation and sighs gently.

"Just do it, already."

"I told you not to tell me what to do."

"Well, that's a bit hypocritical."

He leans forward and looks into her blue eyes; she's not scared of him, and he knows it.

"I love you."

The words tumble out of her mouth before she can stop them.

He falters. No one has ever loved him. _No one_.

"I thought I loved you."

She looks slightly downcast at this, but immediately regains her composure.

"That's nice to know."

"Goodbye, Gallagher Girl."

He cocks the gun.

"Goodbye, Blackthorne Boy."

_BANG_


	4. Old, Liz

**Hmm I'm considering changing the title to "How We Died"… what do you think?  
**

**And then I'll write nice happy (note the irony) one-shots about each of the characters' deaths?**

**Yeah? No? Tell me via review…**

**Anndddd... Here's the latest update **

Liz knew a lot of things.

And as she looked at herself in worn, faded hand-mirror, she saw someone else staring back. Liz knew it wasn't her. It was someone wrinkly, someone tired, someone _old_.

It was a far cry from the naïve, petite sixteen-year-old Gallagher Girl she used to be. Liz missed that happy, young girl who was free of torment and loss.

Free of the knowledge her friends were all gone, and they weren't coming back.

Cammie had been the first to go. She had died young and brave; fighting down the COC.

Bex was next, but Liz suspected she had already partially died from her broken heart. Bex had lost hr best friend and no one, not even Grant, could pull her out of that hole.

Macey was the last to leave Liz relatively alone in this life. She had been shot at a rally, but it was the way she would have wanted to go; saving someone else's life. Macey had taken the bullet intended for Preston.

Liz and Jonas, thought married, had grown apart after all this tragedy. These hardships were simply too much. They changed the two of them for the worse; taking their relationship down, too.

As Liz sat in her hospital bed, lowering the hand-mirror and sighing deeply, she knew she didn't have much time left; she could almost feel her heart slowing down.

Her breaths became more laboured and unsteady. One frail hand reached up to touch the golden friendship bracelet the four Gallagher Girl had promised to cherish for the rest of their lives, so long ago.

Liz knew they were still wearing them, as they slept peacefully, for eternity, underground. She also knew she would join them soon, wearing hers, too.

Liz smiled, closed her eyes and remembered back to all the time they spent together.

And with those happy thoughts on her mind she, too, drifted into an everlasting sleep.


End file.
